You Wouldn’t Believe Me if I Told You

There are times when this blog develops cobwebs. Sometimes it’s because I get into a mope and decide that I don’t have anything worth saying, despite a body of evidence to the contrary. Other times it’s because my life gets incredibly busy. I get hit with curve balls, side winders, and then a life drops a piano on my head.

Well no that’s not exactly what happened this time. Life dropped a piano on my mother’s head. Mom, a five foot three, grey haired, 75-year-old lady, suffered through a home invasion. Some sick monster tail gated Mom into her courtyard, forced his way into her house, and hog tied her with her own extension cord. Thank God, he did not do anything worse to her than tie her up. However she still had to suffer through the terror of not doing how bad it was going to get.

While she lay there tied up in her own bed, this reprehensible bastard ransacked her house, defiled every nook and cranny of her home, robbed her of $300 cash and even wandered around the courtyard out back. He eventually left and she screamed for help and the neighbors came to help her, the police were called and all that good stuff.

So anyway, my reason for not writing about all the wild and crazy things that happened when I went to New Orleans is that I turned around and went screaming right back there only a few weeks after I unpacked from the last trip.

All six of Mom’s kids pretty much made a unanimous decision that the only thing to do was for her to move to a different apartment. She was terrified and relived the event every time she set foot in her apartment. Staying there alone was just not an option.

My sister stayed glued to her computer and helped do all the internet searching to find leads on apartments while Mom and I did the footwork. My brothers did the actually heavy lifting and moving. We got lucky in a French Quarter Miracle kind of way and found an incredibly lovely, recently renovated studio apartment. It’s one block away from a little grocery store, and one block away in another direction from a 24 hour deli that delivers. It’s like staying in a little hotel suite with a full kitchen and 24 hour room service.

The end result was that Mom’s kids, working together, managed to pull a rabbit out of our hat. We got her moved out of the scene of the crime and back into the French Quarter in a really cool apartment, all in a matter of days.

Looking back over the last two weeks, I don’t know how we managed it, but we did. And it was a wild ride, even by New Orleans standard.

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